Success

Success. I do not subscribe to you. Not the way society tells me to. No typical metrics of arriving here.
It feels hollow. Forced. It seems like acting. And coercion.

I will not do something because society says I must just to advance. Just to receive what I am “due.” I’m not due it if I faked it to make it. Or if I worked hard to get it because I was told to. 

No longer will I bow to you, culture of elitists. I will not do what you say to “make my way.” Your degrees and your paper. Your money and power. Prestige and attention.

I am not who you say I am. I am not what you say.
I am who I say I am. I am WHO I SAY.
I will not minimize unfairly or maximize unduly.
I will not nod or agree if I don’t
I will nurture - my soul, my mind, my body.
I will obey myself.
I will set my own goals. And speak my own words.
I will listen and learn and journey
And I will not cave.

What power do you have over me? Only what I give you... AND I GIVE YOU NONE. So you own me none.

The expectations you have of me? You don’t know me.
The Requirements? I don’t bow to you.
I owe you nothing.
You can’t see me? I don’t need you to.
You don’t hear me? I don’t want you to.

I was born me for a reason. My life emerged and flowed in MY banks. My pebbles are in my shoe. My hills and valleys, mine. My story was woven to get me here and I will not lay it aside to please you.
My shoulders will not square. My neck will not stiffen. This is not a fight. Nor is it a challenge. I am soft and free. I am me.

Your standards are your religion. Your acquisition your god. Your notoriety your vision. Your status your day job.
Sitting and rotting. Doing as you're told.

Lemmings and sheep, red brake lights in rush hour. You look and smell and dress to please. You eat and build and speak to fit. Your quest is to be, be like the rest. Neutral no matter the hue, blending in and standing out as told by your rules.

Keep up. Keep up. Never look away. Know and be known. Smile and nod. Energy and movement to what end? 
More followers?
Stand in your panties and show me your ass. More talk about real and less about perfect. And then you push out your belly and take a selfie. 
It’s the same everywhere you look.

What about YOU? what about YOU? 
Have you stopped and wondered? 
Where have you gone? Retreated to where? 
But, you developed your brand, authentic. 
Where are you in there? Beneath the veneer? 
Do you speak up anymore? 
Have you lost your true essence under the glare?

Scars are our glory. Pain teaches us lessons. 
Why do we hide them, run from their stench? 
You don’t? Oh, you own them, you say ... as you bleed out on media, it’s real, your display? 
Really, that is owning? You want me to believe? 
You are scratching the surface. 
Speaking before knowing. Assuming your ending, it’s all about branding. Filters for followers. 
That is not owning. That is not knowing. That is not real. That is not you. 
That is posturing. 
Shamelessly shameful. 
Constantly noisy. 
Avoiding the ache that threatens to swallow.
Those are the scars. That is the stench. That is the start. 
Of Beauty. 
Of grace. 
Of acceptance. 
Of success. 
The only kind that matters.

The darkness of struggle, way before the dawn. 
The silent rival inside your mind. 
That is the journey. 
The essence. The truth. That is formation. That silence is you. 
The wrestle and struggle, tension and pain... walk through it, my darling. Walk through it alone.
Alone is not lonely. 
It’s fullness. It’s strength. 
The essence. The truth. It’s all in your grasp. 
Don’t share it. Don’t share it. Please, for fuck's sake, don’t share it. 
Just walk it. And know it. 
Find who you are. Molding, refining, knowing yourself. 
Your essence. Your truth. It’s on the other side. 
Commit to finding the one who is dying. 
Breathe in her breath. Nestle her neck. Quietly know her. 
Take your time. And Listen. 
Watch and find. Your essence. Your truth. It’s in there. 
I swear.